


Roadside Assistance

by queenofzan



Category: Original Work
Genre: 70s, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Casual Sex, F/M, Multi, Succubus, monsterverse, narrator with a personality, when i came up with this story i titled the outline "how i met your tow truck driver"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19017916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofzan/pseuds/queenofzan
Summary: You know how sometimes, you feel like maybe someone has a cute story about how their parents met, so you ask them, and hope it's not totally boring? I hate when people ask me that because like, most of the time, I can't tell them the good parts, because they don't know about magic and monsters and stuff. I mean it's a nice story without that, I guess, but it's WAY better with the magic.





	Roadside Assistance

My parents met in the 70s, when they were in their twenties. I heard the story from both of them when I was growing up, and I heard the way they told other people, like our neighbors. This is the way they told me, which is closer to the truth, at least in one major detail.

My mom is named Margaret. She was a serious hottie when they met. I mean, she still looks good, but I've seen those weirdly sepia pictures, and she looked like that Farrah Fawcett poster but approachable. Now you might be saying, Lottie, what does how hot your mom is have to do with this story? And the answer is everything, actually.

Admittedly, people would find her attractive even if she was unfortunate-looking. See, she's a succubus. I'm telling you that up front because she always knew, and it makes her sound less like a reckless bimbo.

My dad, who's named Henry but was going by Sam in those days for a dumb reason that is not important to the story, was a tow truck driver. He, being a normal human who was too rational to believe in magic and monsters, did in fact think Margaret was a reckless bimbo for a long time. Or at least reckless; it probably didn't take him long to decide she wasn't a bimbo, just, you know, casual about the consequences of being a reckless and hot young woman in an unfamiliar small town.

Margaret was a wanderer. She had a car and a suitcase and her looks. I guess a lot of concubi did the wandering thing, since it's hard for them to lay very low and still fuck as many new and interesting people as they want.

She drove into a new town, or toward a new town anyway, because her car broke down. This was the 70s, so she didn't have a pager or a cell phone, or even a car phone. She didn't know anything about cars besides basic maintenance, and since she had gas, four good tires, and a fresh change of oil, she needed a mechanic.

A ways off, she could see a house, so she started walking. It was spring, so she had a light jacket and jeans on. I assume the collar was too wide and the pants were high-waisted and wide-legged, though neither of my parents ever mentioned it. I do know Margaret's shirt was low-cut, because I know my mom, and also my dad did mention it once.

Anyway, she walked up the driveway and past what were probably fields at one point, but were just empty land by then, and knocked on the door.

A man about her age, unshaven and disheveled like he'd still been asleep even though it was early afternoon, opened the door. "Can I help you?" he asked, presumably to Margaret's chest, because that's how most men say their first words to her.

"Hi," she said, smiling even more warmly than usual because it was apparent this man wanted to have sex with her. If you're not a concubus, imagine it's like seeing extra colors, or smelling something. That sort of impression isn't even a mind-reading thing, it's more automatic than that. She looked at him and he talked to her, and she knew he wanted her, the same way she knew it was sunny, or his patio was poured concrete.

Anyway she said hi, and told him, "My car broke down just up the road. Can I use your phone? And, um, phonebook?"

"Sure," he said, and ushered her in, because that's what you did in the 70s I guess, let strangers into your home. He probably would have even if she hadn't been hot. I guess if you don't really know anything about serial killers and don't believe in monsters you just let them into your home. He also introduced himself, but neither of my parents can remember his name, so I'll just call him Jim.

Jim led Margaret to the kitchen, where his phone was, and got her his phone book, and she looked up a tow truck company while Jim checked out her ass. That's not me extrapolating, my mom remembered that, but not his name.

She rang up the first of the tow truck companies in the phone book--not that there was a lot of choice, there were only two--and told the receptionist, Kitty, that she needed a tow to a mechanic. Margaret had to ask Jim for his address, and she told Kitty she'd be in Jim's house while she waited, and could the driver meet her there?

Margaret hung up the phone and turned to Jim. "I hope you don't mind," she said, knowing full well he didn't. "She said it would be forty-five minutes or an hour, her driver's out on a different call."

"Well, I don't think a pretty girl like you ought to be waiting alone on the side of the highway," Jim said.

So this is where Sam enters the story. He was the tow truck driver at the first company in the phone book. He got sent to Jim's house, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He sighed, because Kitty said at least two people were home, and he was about to knock again when he heard a shriek. Well, at that, he opened the door, which wasn't locked, and rushed inside, following the sounds of screams.

You will probably not be surprised to hear Sam rushed into the kitchen, ready to fight off some prowler or creep or vicious dog, only to find Margaret bent over the kitchen table, pants around her ankles, Jim behind her with his pants likewise, with his hands on her tits.

They were, of course, facing Sam, and Jim at least stopped and shouted when he saw Sam. Margaret made the barest concession to modesty by putting her arms over her chest.

"I heard screams," Sam said, feeling stupid. Margaret giggled, and that made Jim laugh too. "I'm the tow driver," Sam said. "I'll, uh, I'll wait out front." He had never walked in on anyone else having sex before, and had no friends to go to X-rated movies with, so apart from Playboys passed around classrooms and the two whole girls he'd had sex with in the dark, people having sex and girls having their breasts out was a new and awkward world for him. He says all he was thinking about, waiting on the porch, was how weird driving into town was going to be, with Margaret in the passenger seat.

Margaret thanked Jim for being a good host, which involved giving him a quick handjob so at least one of them came, and went out to meet Sam.

"You got here fast," Margaret said, and Sam blushed.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked. "Do you need me to call the cops?"

Margaret laughed. "No, thank you. Do you really think that's what a rape looks like?"

"You said on the phone you were at a stranger's house," Sam said staunchly, but still blushing. "And--" He cut himself off, looking even more embarrassed.

"And I was screaming," Margaret finished for him. "Sam, if you've never heard a girl scream like that, you're not very good in bed."

"So which way is your car?" Sam asked loudly, and Margaret laughed again.

He drove them the half mile or so to her car, and she got her suitcase and backpack out of the car while he hooked it up to the wrecker.

"So are you just passing through?" he asked, nodding at the suitcase. "I sure haven't seen you around before."

"I don't know, I might stay a while," she said. "Depends if I can get a job. You know anywhere looking for waitresses?"

"Maybe downtown," he said. "Such as it is." He kept up with the conversation admirably, considering his brain was just replaying what he saw in Jim's kitchen. He asked if she knew anyone in town, and she told him she was a bit of a drifter. He didn't say anything that would indicate he was preoccupied with what her breasts looked like in Jim's hands.

They got in the truck, and they kept up the small talk all the way into town proper. Margaret was impressed, because she was finding it a little hard to concentrate, since she'd been interrupted before she got her fill. She kind of hoped Sam would make a move, but he never so much as checked her out, even though he couldn't stop thinking about her bent over that kitchen table.

He dropped her and her car off at the mechanic's, and she spent the rest of the day waiting on repairs and arguing with a man who thought brains and beauty were mutually exclusive.

Margaret got a job at the diner downtown, and rented a room, and started working her way through the town's young singles and small magical community.

A few weeks later, her car broke down again. She dug Sam's card out of the glovebox, walked back into the linen store she'd just bought sheets from, and asked to use their phone.

So Sam pulled into the parking lot with his truck, and Margaret waved at him from where she was leaning against the back bumper. It was warmer by then, so she'd foregone the light jacket and long pants, and was in a low-cut shirt and a skirt.

"Didn't Tommy fix your car?" Sam asked as he hooked it up again.

"He said so," Margaret said. "I don't know much about cars, though, so I guess he could've lied."

Sam shook his head. "Tommy's the best mechanic in town. He does all the work for the company."

"Well, I suppose he'd have to be good," Margaret said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked, as they climbed into the cab of his truck.

"He's a misogynist pig," Margaret said.

"Oh," Sam said. "That would explain why Kitty always makes me or Doug call him."

Once again, although her skirt and top were doing their job and making him think about her legs and breasts, Sam didn't say or do anything. They made small talk, he put forth theories about her car, he dropped her at Tommy's garage, and he drove away.

The third time they met, it was so early the sun wasn't out yet. "Hey, thanks for coming so soon," Margaret whispered, closing the door behind her. "I think it just needs a jump, but Kathy doesn't have a car, and her roommate's out of town."

"Sure," Sam said. "I'll pull the truck up, we can try that first."

He did that, and they hooked up the jumper cables he kept in the truck. "So how do you know Kathy?" Sam asked, while Margaret held up the hood of her car. The wrecker had a working prop, but her beater did not.

"I don't, really," Margaret said. "She came to the diner earlier and we got to talking."

"Must've been some talk, if you stayed over 'till four in the morning," Sam commented. Margaret snorted, because she figured he wouldn't have missed the obvious conclusion if she'd been at a man's house, but it didn't seem to have even crossed his mind two women might have sex. Sam said, "Okay, try it now."

With only a little chugging, Margaret's car started. She left it running and got out of the car to hold up the hood while Sam took the cables back. "So what do I owe you?" she asked him, once he had the cables stowed back in the cab.

He waved a hand at her. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, come on, Sam," she said. "It's four in the morning."

"No, it's fine, I was on my way home and it was just a jump," he said. He had been on his way out the door from a long shift, but he lived on the other side of town, so it wasn't exactly on the way.

Margaret didn't know that, but she still figured he was lying. But she'd offered twice, and it had only been a jump, so she let it go. She said, "Well, thank you," and managed to ambush him with a kiss on the cheek. At that, she felt a rush of feeling from him that she couldn't identify until she was back in her own rented room, getting ready for bed. It was affection, without any sexual component. Margaret hadn't even realized she could tell what someone was feeling when it wasn't sexual. She never had before.

In the moment, it threw her for enough of a loop that she let him make his flustered goodbyes and leave, and she drove home in the pre-dawn light feeling puzzled.

The next time they met, it was because of Margaret's job, not Sam's. Sam came into the diner while Margaret was on her shift.

"Hey there, stranger," she said.

"Oh," he said, "hey."

"So what can I get you?" she asked. She saw it plain as the rather large nose on his face that he wanted to say, _You_. She was sad he didn't, even though it was incredibly corny. Instead, he ordered normally and she went to put it in.

She came back with his drink and asked him how business was. "Not as steady, with your car fixed," he said, and she laughed.

She stayed and chatted with him for a while, mostly about the town and the weather. Then another customer came in, and she left to take care of him. He was an older man who was not shy about checking her out, and Margaret blatantly flirted with him. Sam paid in cash, tipped generously, and left without saying goodbye. Margaret rolled her eyes, because it wasn't as though she didn't try to flirt with him. It was a bit rich for him to get jealous when he wouldn't even flirt back with her.

(My dad insists he wasn't jealous, just had somewhere to be. My mom maintains she knows what she felt.)

The next time they ran into each other, it was once again because her car was on the fritz. It was pouring, and she'd gotten stuck in the mud on some guy's farm on the edge of town, and in the process of trying to get it unstuck, the engine had died again.

She answered the door of this guy's farmhouse, still damp and wearing a tiny, clingy t-shirt that must have been a kid's size. She huddled next to Sam under his umbrella on the walk to the cars. It wasn't cold, but she'd already gotten soaked once. Sam did not stare at how her nipples were showing through the shirt, or look at her breasts at all. It must have been an incredible act of willpower, Margaret thought. The farmer whose house it was had suggested a round two when she went in to get dry.

Sam let her into the truck so she could be out of the rain, and walked back to hook up the car.

He slipped around in the mud Margaret's car was stuck in, fell in two or three times. He scraped up his fingers on the couplings when they slipped off the wet metal, unable to gain purchase. Trying to walk around and try from the other side, he wrenched his ankle in a hole he couldn't see.

He gave up and stomped back to the truck, yanking the driver side door open. "Need to wait 'till the rain lets up," he muttered, then slammed the cab door behind him.

"You're the expert," Margaret said. He was frustrated and thinking about how easy it would be to push her down on the bench seat and kiss her. He didn't usually think such violent or specific things about her, but he still didn't do so much as check her out.

They sat in silence a while, then Sam asked, "Why do you do this?"

She had to know what he meant, but she pretended to misunderstand. She never said, but I think she was probably trying to provoke him into acting on some of those things he was thinking. I can't think why else she'd say, "What, call a tow truck?"

Sam made a noise. Mom calls it a growl; Dad says it was a grunt. I never thought it made that much of a difference, but they argue about it still, so I guess it was an important noise. He said, "Did you have sex with that guy?"

Margaret laughed. "Obviously," she said.

"Why do you have sex with all these random guys?" Sam asked. He wasn't looking at her, just staring out of the windshield. His hair was stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck from the rain, and his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. Margaret noticed for the first time that he had a little bit of a belly, even though his arms were toned. He was flushed, from anger or embarrassment or both.

"It's not just guys," she said. Sam huffed impatiently, though Margaret did notice he didn't seem surprised. Apparently he'd figured out why she was at Kathy's house at four in the morning eventually. "Because I want to," she said. "It's fun."

"It's dangerous," Sam said. "You don't know these guys. And with your car like this, you could get trapped with some--sleazebag."

"Mm-hmm," Margaret said. "So you think I'm stupid."

He looked at her finally, frowning. "No!" he said. "I just--"

"So what, then?" she asked, cutting him off. "You think I'm weak?"

"I'm--that's not what I said."

"Well you're giving me advice I didn't ask for," Margaret said. "So you must think I need it."

He stared at her, wet and frowning and thinking about kissing her. Eventually, he looked away and said, "Sorry. You're right, you didn't ask me. I just worry."

Margaret smiled. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate the apology. And the worry, even if I don't need it."

"It's just, you know," he said. "There's a lot of creeps out there."

"And not a woman alive who doesn't know it better than you, Sam," she said.

"No, I know, I wasn't saying--it's not an excuse, just an explanation." He sighed. "Sure wish I kept towels in the truck."

"I don't think that'd keep you from putting your foot in your mouth," Margaret said. Sam looked over at her, about to argue, then saw she was smiling and laughed.

"No, I guess it wouldn't," he said. "But we'd be warmer, and that ain't nothing."

Margaret scooted a little closer to him on the truck bench. She had to kick a toolbox over to make room for her feet. She had decided he wasn't going to say anything, and he didn't seem to notice her indirect invitations, so she decided to go for it herself. She said, "We could keep each other warm, you know."

His thoughts went the right place right away, and he wasn't quite able to keep his eyes from dropping to her tits for a second. But he said, "What do you mean?" She wanted to hit him, but she couldn't exactly admit she knew he was playing dumb without outing herself as a succubus.

So she rolled her eyes, and put a hand on his leg, and said, "I'm sure we have time for a quickie before the rain lets up."

He swallowed and looked away. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said.

It wasn't like Margaret had never come across someone who was attracted to her but didn't want to act on it. Of course she had, we all have. People aren't just their desires, they have other stuff going on, personal reasons and social reasons and other obligations that keep the stuff a succubus can hear from being the only or even most important thoughts in their heads. But Sam had met her, had talked to her, and kept wanting her, and kept on not acting on it. She knew by now he wasn't in a relationship, and he even liked her. Being too nervous to act on his own, even if she laid down a pretty obvious welcome mat, made sense to her. Turning her down outright didn't.

"Appropriate?" she repeated, not even as a real question, but just because she couldn't make sense of him turning her down when he'd just been sitting there thinking about how easy it would be to push her down and have his way with her. Even if that was something he'd never act on, it didn't mean he shouldn't have jumped at her plainly stated offer.

"Well, I am kind of on the clock right now," he said. "Just because we're waiting for the rain to let up doesn't mean I'm not at work."

"So if you weren't on a call, we'd be in the clear," she said.

"Well," he said, and she wanted to scream. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I mean, you're a client. I don't know how appropriate it'd be when we've got a professional relationship."

She wanted to say something about it not bothering any of the other servicemen she'd been with, but she knew Sam well enough by now to doubt that would help her case. He seemed to like her in spite of her being a slut, not because of it, which was not what she was used to from the men around her. She'd relied on that while she was wandering around, that most grumpy or uncooperative men could be loosened up with a smile, or a flirt, or, at the more extreme end of things, actual sex. As a succubus, she liked sex, and she needed it, but it had also been a tool. One she was used to working, if not every time, then at least whenever she could tell someone was into her.

"Well then," she said, and scooted back over to the passenger side of the truck. "In that case, I wish you kept towels in here too."

He laughed at that, but he still didn't look back over at her until the rain let up some and his fingers and ankle weren't smarting as much. He never said it, at least not to me, but he was worried if he looked at her again, his resolve would crumble.

I love my dad, but I do not understand him.

Anyway, he drove her to the mechanic again, and this time he came in with her. He was worried Tommy the misogynist wouldn't treat Margaret in tiny borrowed clothes right, though he told her he just wanted to ask Tommy for some towels, and maybe if he had a jacket Margaret could borrow. He also left her the umbrella from his cab when she said it wasn't that far for her to walk home.

With Sam there, Tommy suddenly took a lot longer to diagnose the problem with Margaret's car, and it turned out there was a problem he'd missed before, every time. With that finally admitted and diagnosed, Sam left to check in with the tow company, and solve some more problems caused by the weather.

He came by the diner during her shift, and she didn't bother flirting with him. It was busy, so they didn't have much time to talk. He still left her a great tip, and she was distracted the rest of the night for reasons she couldn't articulate, or understand.

The next time she called him, it was the middle of the night. He woke up and answered his phone, and heard lots of people in the background. Before he could ask who it was, Margaret said, "Saaaam! It's me, Meg. I need a ride."

He sighed and got out of bed. "I thought Tommy found out what was wrong with your car," he said. He was already fishing for his shoes, phone cord stretched as far as it would go.

"'Sokay," she said, "my car's fine but I can't drive. I am very too drunk to drive."

He groaned. "You know," he said, "I'm a tow driver, not a taxi driver." He slipped his shoes on, without socks, and looked around for a shirt.

"But I don't know any taxi drivers here," she said. Someone in the background shouted something as the music changed. Then she giggled. "And I can't ask any of these guys, they're all drunk."

"Of course they are," Sam muttered. "Where are you, Flannigan's?"

"County Line," she said. "These guys are much more fun. Flannigan's is full of married people who do not swing."

No one else would have described the character of a bar like that, Sam thought, but he supposed it sounded true enough. He told her, "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"God, you're the best," she said. "You're the best friend."

He found himself a shirt and grabbed his keys, and headed out to The County Line in his old station wagon. He had to go in to the bar to find Margaret, who was surrounded by dancing drunk men who really couldn't dance, but were willing to give it a shot to have an excuse to be near Margaret.

"Sam!" she shouted, practically into his face, and threw her arms around him. She said into his ear, too loud to be a whisper but maybe not loud enough to be overheard over the music and the shouting, "Guess how many people I've fucked in this bar."

"Yeah, you are way too drunk to drive," Sam said. "Let's get you home."

She giggled and said, "But not you. Not in this bar or out of it."

She yelled and waved goodbye to all her friends, which was apparently everyone in the bar. Sam had to drag her out, one arm wrapped all the way around her waist. She mostly got into the car of her own volition, and managed to get the door closed on the second try.

Once he managed to get her address out of her, he said, "I hope you don't get this drunk too often."

"I don't think I have been this drunk before," she said. "It turns out, bartenders will give you free drinks if you fuck them." She giggled. "And then the other guy, I had sex with him in the bathroom, which I don't recommend actually, the bathroom at Flannigan's is much cleaner but no one there wanted to have sex with me, he also bought me a drink! And then I thought, I was too drunk to be picking up strangers, so I only danced. And drank. Some of them kept buying me drinks because they got it backwards, isn't that funny?" She flopped over onto the seat and reached out to touch his leg. "This isn't your truck," she said.

"I don't drive the wrecker when I'm not working," he said. "This is just my car."

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him. "Were you asleep? Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah, well," he said. "I don't like to sleep on my nights off, it's fine."

She laughed. "You like me so much," she said. "You like me so much, and you won't fuck me." She laughed harder.

When she finally chilled out and stopped giggling, Sam said, "Hey, do you remember what you said about, uh, not only sleeping with guys?"

"Sure," she said. She kicked off her shoes and put her feet on the passenger window. Her skirt slid up her legs a few inches, and he looked away. She said, "I'm not gonna tell you all about it just 'cause you think it's hot, though."

"That's fine," Sam said. He frowned, and asked, "Do people ask you about it because of that?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "You may not have noticed, but straight dudes think everything women do is for them." She giggled. "Including other women."

"That sucks," he said. "Uh, sorry?"

She reached up from his lap and tapped his chin. "You've been good to me, anyway," she said. "I think you're prolly very nice."

Maybe I should have mentioned sooner, but this bit is entirely from my dad's memory. Mom vaguely remembers getting drunk and calling him for a ride, and she remembers the three guys she had sex with before she got completely wasted, but she doesn't remember this conversation. I'm not surprised, and neither is Dad; she says this was the drunkest she ever got, if her hangover the next day was anything to judge by.

Which is why I don't know that he blushed and was glad it was dark and Margaret was drunk, since he never said so, but I feel safe assuming it. Anyway, he changed the subject, or went back to the subject, or whatever. He said, "So like, is that common? Sleeping with both men and women?"

"In some places," Margaret said. "Shit, have you never heard of bisexuality?"

"This town ain't exactly a cultural hub," Sam said, and Margaret giggled again. "I guess I thought you had to choose one or the other."

Margaret yawned. "Well, y'don't," she said. "In fact, I highly recommend not. God, girls are so pretty." She rolled onto her side and mashed her face against Sam's thigh. "But I could never give up men."

"You don't say," Sam muttered, and that sent her into another fit of giggles.

When they got to her apartment, Sam parked the car, and walked her to the door. He asked if she needed him to come in and help her get ready for bed, but she just patted his cheek and said, "I'm a big girl, Sam. I c'n take care of myself."

She didn't manage to get undressed, or into her bed, and woke up the next morning half-dressed on her couch, feeling like death. She also didn't have control over her horns and tail for a couple of hours, until her headache was under control. Throwing up and having her horns bang into the toilet lid only made the headache worse, and she taught me about hangover prevention when I was still way too young to drink, just so it would be drilled into my head by the time I started drinking.

It was a long time before they spoke to each other again. Sam stopped in at the diner a couple of times, but she wasn't his waitress and they didn't get to talk.

He didn't know her phone number, and she wasn't in the phone book, of course, being a drifter renting a room, so he went to her apartment one evening when he got off work and knocked on the door.

Margaret answered the door, pleasantly surprised. "Sam," she said. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I haven't seen you around lately."

She frowned. "I'm fine," she said. "I just got a new car."

He threw his head back. "Of course," he said. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Why don't you come in?" she asked. He walked in and let her usher him to the couch. "Sorry," she said, "I didn't think to call you, but it seems weird to call a tow company to tell them you don't need a tow."

"You have my home number, though," he said.

She cocked her head at him. "No I don't? Oh! You mean when I called you from the bar! I got it from Kitty, I called the business first. I think I wrote it down on...the wall." She frowned. "Or something."

"Oh," he said.

She smiled at him. "Thank you for checking up on me," she said. "You're sweet."

He asked about what was wrong with the car, and she told him the whole story, starting when he picked her up in the rain and got Tommy to actually look at the car long enough to figure out the real problem. It turned out to be more expensive to fix than the car was really worth, and she actually knew someone whose mom was selling a car. Tommy checked it out for her, because he was much more diligent after he knew Sam cared about her, and when Tommy said it was in good shape, she worked out a deal with the owner.

"So that horrible old Caddy out there is mine," she said. "The gas mileage will be hell when I get back on the road, but..." She shrugged. "That's a problem for future Meg to deal with." He was busy fretting about the "when" in that sentence when she leaned over and put a hand on his knee. "So you're not on the clock right now," she said. He shook his head. She smiled and went on, "I haven't needed a tow in weeks. Surely it wouldn't be inappropriate now...?"

He actually hadn't been thinking (much) about how low-cut her shirt was, or how he was in her apartment, or how she had directly propositioned him once. As soon as he realized why she was touching his leg and leaning over him, though, it didn't take him long to get there.

"I mean, if you have a whole new car," he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

So, here's a fun thing about me telling this story: no one actually wants to hear me tell them the details of what happened next, even if they want to know the details. Like, it doesn't matter to me, I would know all the details even if neither of my parents had ever said anything, because that's kind of how this whole mind-reading thing works. It doesn't feel weird to me, or to Mom, that I know about this, or if I tell this story. But other people get really weird about it, so let's just say they made out, found the couch did not have enough room for what they wanted to do, and wound up having sex on the floor. There, a summary without details, even though I have totally alluded to more details about one or the other of them at other times in this story, and in my life. For some reason, it doesn't bother people as much if it's only about one of my parents. I don't understand people who aren't concubi.

They were laying on the floor afterward, naked and cuddling, and Margaret said, "Well, that was very nice. I guess it would have been a little cramped in your truck."

Sam rolled onto his side to face her and said, "Meg, I don't want to be like those other guys, where you leave or I leave and we don't see each other again." Before she could say anything to that, he said, "I mean that's fine! It's totally cool if you want to do that, you can do whatever you want, but I really like you and I want to keep seeing you. I don't even care if you keep sleeping with other people, that's who you are I guess, I just want to be, like...on the rotation."

Margaret had been asked out before. Most of those people had taken it for granted that they'd be exclusive, or that if she really liked them, she would stop sleeping around. Sure, there had been some people who said they'd be okay with it, but none of them had meant it. As far as she could tell, Sam wasn't jealous or angry about her being with other people, or even getting off on it, like some people did. His feelings gave her no indication he meant anything other than what he said.

She said, "I have to tell you something." And she told him all about being a succubus, and magic, and even took her horns and tail out. She was kind of expecting him not to believe her without proof.

She underestimated how much rural folks were ready to believe in the supernatural, or maybe how completely gone over her Sam was, because his response was very subdued. He said, "Oh," and, once she took her horns out, asked to touch them.

"So I'm not sure I could physically be monogamous," she said. She put her horns away, so she could snuggle under his arm without impaling him. "But I really like you, too. And I would love to date you. If you're still interested."

He laughed, and said, "Why wouldn't I still be interested?" And kissed her.

I think it's a cute story, even when people don't know about Mom being a succubus. But the part that means the most to me, and to most of the magical people I know, is the part where Sam just rolled with it, and accepted her for who she was, and obviously we have to leave that part out if people don't know about us.

And I mean, it's not like they haven't had problems, obviously. Everyone has problems, and relationships are hard, but he never let the succubus thing be a problem, or held it over her head. They dated, and eventually he went with her when she left town, and they wandered around together for a couple of years. They went back when they got married, so Sam's parents could see the wedding. Even though he'd lived in that town his whole life, most of the people there who went to the wedding went because they knew (ie, had sex with) Margaret.

If this was a movie, this would be the part where I told you they lived happily ever after. And I mean, they got married, and had a kid, and bought a house, which I guess for some people would count. And they are very much still happy. I would totally know if they weren't, because of the whole mind reading thing. And hopefully because they would tell me, they've tried not to be sucky parents so far. But I've always thought that was a really weird ending. Like, most of their lives have happened since then, and I'm supposed to just tie it up with "ever after"? But on the other hand, the story's got to end sometime, and it's not like I can say the story of how my parents met hasn't ended. They met so much they got married and had a kid.

But I think the point of telling this story, the whole story, magic and monsters and all, is that part at the end there. The part where Sam laughs, and says, "Why wouldn't I still be interested?" and kisses her. Life can be hard, and life can suck, but life can also have someone in it who knows all your secrets, and doesn't see why they would change how they feel about you. It happened for my parents, and it could happen for me, and it could happen for you.

I hope it does.

**Author's Note:**

> So this takes place, continuity and world-building wise, in the same world as [The Other Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9179137%22) and [The Virgin Incubus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16253129), only in the 70s, obviously. I came up with Lottie the narrator first, and then figured out how her parents met, and that was easier to write about than Lottie's story. I mean, I'm still working on Lottie's story, don't worry I'm not! But I kind of set up all my concubi for rough childhoods, and it is occasionally difficult to write about and not feel, idk, gross or exploitative.
> 
> There may also be another story about Sam and Meg but I can't have Lottie tell that one because it's nonstop filth. I mean, romantic filth. Still, perhaps not the kind of thing you want narrated by the couple's child.
> 
> It's weird to post a monsterverse story without a bunch of sex acts in the tags.


End file.
